


Kindly Expound Upon the Nature of Your Complaint

by Masian (salable_mystic)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/pseuds/Masian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A job well done deserves a proper and fitting reward, doesn't it? Propper and fitting being the key terms, here... .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kindly Expound Upon the Nature of Your Complaint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zee113](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zee113/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I tell you - certainly none of these fine men. Nor did any of this ever take place.
> 
> Happy Holidays-of-Your-Choice, zee113!!!!
> 
> I ... yeah. Orlando's mental processes and wandering thoughts kinda took over this here fic there, and I hope they can be followed okay? (Also, uh, Orlando's brain seems to love italics...).

It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve, and the snow was coming down hard and fast outside the window, adding yet another layer to the solid covering that had already taken possession of the Idaho landscape. Orlando sighed contentedly and stretched on the comfortable window seat, careful not to upset the mug of hot chocolate located beneath his bent knees. He briefly considered fighting entropy and laziness both, by getting up and going to down to the kitchen to grab another ginger cookie (or possibly three?), but Viggo would be home from his excursion into town soon enough and they’d planned to cook dinner together – and he really was kind of too comfortable right where he was for getting up and walking all that way down the stairs and up the hallway and into the kitchen ... so he dismissed the idea and instead yawned and leaned back, relaxing against the snugly upholstered cushion that had become a permanent fixture of the window seat.

The window seat used to be nothing but a low and broad window sill, but that had been before Orlando had become a firmly established part-time inhabitant of this house. He’d used to pile blankets and pillows here, creating his own little window sill nest ... until he’d arrived one day to find the whole area re-done into a warm and snug proper window seat, complete with man-who-had-once-broken-his-back-friendly, ergonomic cushions. 

Orlando had become embarrassingly teary-eyed over the whole thing, back then – Viggo and he had been committed to each other for more than a year already at that point, but had not managed to meet up all that often, and their everyday lives had not had time to intermingle. They’d kept a spare toothbrush and a set of clothes at the other’s place, but other than that, nothing tangible. And then to arrive one rainy October evening, cold and frustrated and with only two days at your disposal and in a bit of a temper, to find something like this ... . 

Orlando sighed. Viggo had always known what he needed, right from the start, and this had been one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for him. Viggo, of course, had claimed it was all due to the fact that he’d simply grown tired of carrying their pillows and blankets back to bed every evening, and since Orlando insisted on hanging out in the second-floor landing window, he might as well do it properly and in style and without straining his back. Orlando, who had been carrying the pillows and stuff back every evening without fail , long before Viggo had a chance of searching for them, had merely smiled at the obvious excuse and fake complaint and had given Viggo an enthusiastic ‘thank you’ kiss. A sensitive soul the older man might be, but that didn’t mean that he was always good at accepting thanks. 

Orlando picked up the mug and drained the last of the – now barely luke-warm – hot chocolate. It sure looked uncomfortable out there. The snow was piling up pretty fast, and visibility was not good. Viggo had shrugged Orlando’s concerns away – he wasn’t going far (only into town to pick up some groceries and to visit the post office) and since he had snow chains on his truck and would drive slowly, he’d be perfectly safe. Which, rationally, Orlando was pretty certain was indeed the case. Still, being inside was much nicer than being out there in all that weather, and Orlando hoped Viggo would make it home soon. It was getting dark out, and once night fell, driving would be _really_ not fun.

He sighed and put the mug down again, and then reluctantly swung his legs from the window-seat, picked up the mug, rose and ambled down the stairs and into the kitchen. There _were_ ginger cookies to be had, after all, and possibly a second cup of hot chocolate would not go amiss either... and he might as well get dinner started. They’d decided on vegetarian casserole for the evening, which involved a _lot_ of vegetable chopping. And those vegetables sure weren’t going to chop themselves... .

 

* * *

 

Orlando had just placed the casserole into the pre-heated oven (congratulating himself on a job well done), when he heard a car pull into the driveway, followed quickly by the side door to the mud room opening and the sound of boots stamping off excess snow on the entry grate. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel, and made his way to the door that connected the mud room to the kitchen. 

Viggo was almost invisible behind the large brown paper bag that he carried in both arms, and Orlando quickly entered the room to relieve him of his burden. 

“Hey there!” he smiled, and managed to only squash the bag slightly when he leaned in from the side to steal a quick kiss.

Viggo had the collar of his winter coat turned up high, and was bundled up in a scarf and hat, but the essential parts of his face – essential for this activity, certainly – were accessible enough, and so it was a little while later that he got to reply verbally to Orlando’s greeting.

“Hey there yourself,” he returned the smile, and his eyes twinkled merrily. “I’ve got to go out more often, if that is the kind of welcome home I get.”

Orlando hefted the grocery bag in his arms and shrugged, amused. “Well, you braved the elements to make sure we won’t starve over Christmas Day, and that certainly deserved a small reward.”

Viggo was busy shrugging out of his coat and toeing off his boots, but stopped in the process of unwinding his scarf to look at Orlando inquiringly. He then studied Orlando from head to toe, ragged comfy jeans, sweater, socked feet, enormous grocery bag and all, and asked in the tone of voice that Orlando had quickly learned meant banter would most likely be forthcoming: “A small reward, is it?”

Banter indeed! Orlando mock frowned and allowed himself to let extremely precise pronunciation to stand in for the air quotes he was unable to enact (due to the large shopping back he had hefted in his arms). This was going to be good. Viggo _hated_ air quotes. Not that Orlando himself was fond of them, but ‘needs must’ and all that...: “Why, certainly. It’s not, after all, as if you had to _dig up_ or _hunt for_ any of these items here, and it would _not_ do to inflate the incentive system.”

Safely rid of his cold-weather accoutrements, and dressed now in sweater, jeans and socks – and driven to verbosity by Orlando’s outrageous miss-use of sentence stress patterns (Orlando would have mentally rubbed his hands in glee, were such a thing possible) – Viggo replied: “No hunting involved, is it? Might I remind you that it is the day before Christmas, and pretty much every single inhabitant of the town – plus any number of people I have never seen before in my _life_ , and what they are doing in our neck of the woods I certainly don’t know, nor care terribly much to ascertain – is out there, right now, buying groceries and running errands at the post office? I might as well have made the trip to collect your parcel at its point of _origin_ , when you consider the amount of time I spent waiting in the post office queue to pick it up...”

Oh, goodie. Orlando mentally thanked his years at acting school, which allowed him to suppress the impending grin ... this was going to be fun ... now how to move things along into right direction? Ah, yes: “Hmm ... in that case, I _certainly_ see that I was wrong in the initial assessment of your just-completed mission. A slightly-larger-than-small reward is _undoubtedly_ in order.”

Viggo smiled, and then looked at Orlando expectantly. Orlando leaned back against the door jamb, trying to look as laissez-faire and blasé as possible – considering that he was still hefting a (surprisingly heavy, at that, even for its enormous size) brown grocery bag, that was no mean feat. But then he hadn’t gone to acting school for nothing, had he?

Viggo’s expectant look turned into a frown – which only Orlando’s in-depth knowledge of the man was able to confidently label a mock-frown – clearly, Viggo _also_ was not an actor for nothing. 

“ _Well_?” the older man asked rather pointedly, adding an impatient tone to the frown.

“Well, uh, _what_?” Orlando asked, trying to sound as utterly confused as he possible could: “Am I well? Well yes, at that, I certainly am and while I _do_ thank you for asking, I would submit that that is quite an abrupt change of topic. Last _I_ recall, we were discussing your excursion into town, weren’t we?” Orlando paused and made a great show of searching his mind (or as great a show as one could make, when one’s hands were clutching a heavier-by-the-second, ginormous, gargantuan, help-me-its-going-to-swallow-me-whole paper bag) “Oh, yes! Indeed! Reward system applicability for excursions of more than expected complexity! That’s it. If Sir would follow me into the kitchen? I am chagrinned to admit that slightly-larger-than-small rewards would only be hampered by _bagzilla_ here.”

Orlando turned daintily (or as daintily as was possible – see: colossal bag!) and shot a lascivious look over his shoulder, catching Viggo’s amused gaze. He set the paper bag down on the kitchen counter (ah, relief! finally!) and rotated back to face Viggo again, making sure to keep his come-hither look firmly in place. (It did not require a great deal of acting [– mostly it meant that he could not shake out his arms like he wanted to. What was _in_ that bag? And how had Viggo managed to carry it into the mud room, and possibly all over town? Truly, the man never ceased to amaze him...].)

Viggo had paused in the doorframe to observe and give proper attention to the spectacle Orlando was so clearly making for his benefit, and Orlando, never reluctant of showing off for this one particular and dearly beloved person, leaned back against the counter, letting his T-shirt ride up and an inch of bare skin show between its hem and his rather low-riding trousers. He then canted his hips, knowing full well what picture he was presenting to Viggo. 

Viggo – oh, blessedly predictable Viggo – gulped. 

The older man’s voice sounded slightly rough when he inquired: “Hands are necessary, is it?”  
Orlando nodded: “For a slightly-larger-than-small reward? Oh yes. Most certainly. I would have you know that we here at ‘Bloom, Inc.’ pride ourselves on our well-balanced reward system - and further and subsequently larger interactivity is a _key_ component of the different reward levels.”

“I see.”Viggo swallowed again, and – were his eyes glazing over ever so slightly? Yes, they were! Some mental chortling was definitely in order! But first...

“Do you? Oh good. How ... gratifying.” Orlando smirked. “But, oh dear ... merely _seeing_ something is so ... _non-interactive_. If you’d come over here you might _feel_ as well.”

Viggo smiled somewhat dazedly, and obeyed.

 

* * *

 

They came up for air a little while later ... _after_ Orlando had demonstrated that a slightly-larger-than-small reward involved hands caressing cheeks and ears and running through hair and possibly also resting on shoulders – he’d initially planned to save those for later, but things had gotten away from him there for a little bit. Viggo looked satisfyingly flushed and ruffled – which was a good thing indeed, as Orlando was quite feeling so himself. 

Viggo stepped back and ran a hand through his hair distractedly. 

Orlando smirked. “Was Sir pleased with the interactivity of his slightly-larger-than-small reward?”

Viggo nodded, “Oh, yes, indeed. But I still feel as if the monumental onerousness of my completed excursion does decidedly _not_ rate as equivalent to merely a slightly-larger-than-small reward.”

Orlando raised an eyebrow and looked at him archly, adding in his best stiff-upper-lip English voice: “ _Oh_? Might Sir have any evidence to corroborate this complaint? If not, we must certainly consider him a ... _spineless whiner_... and not worthy of admittance to our elite reward system.” (Don’t chuckle now, keep a straight face ... remember acting school, and a mighty expensive affair it was... oh, good job! Thank you, Guildhall!)

“A _spineless whiner_?” Viggo replied – and my, he sure could do an upper-class British accent when he chose to do so, it was actually quite impressive “Why _Sir_ , you injure me grievously! Grievously! I will have you know that in the twenty minutes I was queuing up at the post office, I had to make small talk with Ms. Barnes from the library, who told me – _in great and engrossing detail, I would have you know_ – of the sad and unfortunate _digestive problems_ her elderly cat is currently experiencing. And she would not be fended off, nor content with, vague inquiring noises interspersed at the proper time and occasion, as and when the conversation demanded it, _oh no_. Nor was she _at all_ receptive to any attempts of changing the topic.”

Orlando winced inwardly, and tried his best to suppress his amusement. He knew Ms. Barnes – a thoroughly lovely woman, but someone who tended to get carried away with whatever subject was preying on her mind. Twenty minutes on feline bowel movements? _Ouch_.

He pursed his lips, trying to look serious – and not to grin, like he wanted to (Guildhall, Guildhall...!): “Sir is indeed right, such unsuspected difficulties require an increase to a definitely-larger-than-small reward – nay, even an upgrade into the medium reward category – and any miss-assessment of the initially supplied benefit can _certainly_ only accounted for by taking into account Sir’s previously incomplete rendition of the adversity of his undertaking. Does Sir have any _additional difficulties_ or hardships associated with today’s enterprise to report?”

Viggo, at this point, was rather unsuccessfully trying not to laugh. He shook his head, amusement written all over his face and twinkling in his eyes. “Well, to be honest, not right now ... but I am sure I _do not_ recall all of the details of my excursion fully right now, and better recollection of their laboriousness could be inspired by commencement and completion of the, ah, _medium-sized reward_?”

Orlando smirked, “In that case, since ...” he threw a brief glance at the oven timer “...dinner will be ready in a mere 28 minutes, the medium sized reward had indeed best be embarked upon at once, so that full recollection might be achieved over dinner, and the whole reward system be demonstrated tonight. Would Sir be agreeable with that agenda?”

Viggo laughed and stepped closer, right into Orlando’s personal space. His arms came up to embrace Orlando and his voice sounded husky when he murmured, lips close to Orlando’s ear and arms busy running over the skin so teasingly revealed by the ridden up T-shirt. “Oh, Sir might indeed.”

 

* * * 

 

They’d ignored the kitchen timer when it went off and so the casserole was ... not very (not by the broadest possible definition of the term, really) ... _al dente_ any more when they recalled that there _had_ been a rather insistent ringing noise at some point – and just what that noise had meant. Still, it was tasty enough – and the vanilla ice cream that Viggo had brought home – and that had quite thoroughly melted at that point – they found, could be used in any number of interesting ways when trying to refine and expand the upper end of the rewards system scale.

(Oh, thank you Guildhall, and Ms. Barnes, and _Viggo_ , and the world _for_ Viggo, and all!)

 

The End


End file.
